Текст книги "The Golden City"

Автор книги: Kathleen Cheney

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“We should simply say nothing,” he said mischievously, “and let the servants wonder.”

Well, they would probably come up with their own interpretation anyway. “I am far more comfortable in this situation,” she said, “than you would be. More accustomed to such garb.”

“You mean wearing a blanket?” He regarded her with raised brows. “What exactly dopeople wear on your islands?”

She smiled, gazing down at the one hand in her lap. She still had the dagger’s sheath strapped to her arm, but the blade had been forgotten in the river. “That book you read as a boy was right in that those who work near the water often do so unclothed. Otherwise one usually wears a pareu.” When he opened his mouth to ask, she explained. “A length of fabric wrapped about the waist. It would cover from the waist to the knees, or just below.”

“Ah,” he said. “Do you mean the men? Or the women?”

“Both,” she said with a shrug. “When it becomes cooler, one wears a loose vest over that, or even a jacket.”

He shifted in his seat to look at her. “The islands mustbe warmer than Portugal. No shirts?”

“They come into fashion now and then but aren’t essential.” She shot a swift glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “A human would be quite uncomfortable dressing so.”

His lips pursed. “Probably at first. I suspect I would enjoy it after a while. No need for a valet, certainly.”

She plucked at the blanket with her free hand. “Yes, the many layers your people wear are rather . . . redundant.”

“You must hate our clothing.”

“At first I did, a bit,” she admitted. “But I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

It was an ordinary conversation, a break from all the other things they didn’t want to discuss . As if we’d simply met at a café,she thought, wishing with a sudden pang that her life could be that simple. Would she have the nerve to court this man if she had the chance?

The carriage drew into the alleyway behind the houses on the Street of Flowers, getting them quite close to the back door. Cardenas was outside on the steps, sneaking a cigarette, as he did when upset. The butler stubbed it out on the wall and came to meet the cab. When Duilio opened the door and stepped down, Cardenas embraced him and burst into tears. He drew back quickly, though, apparently recalling his station. “We feared the worst, sir, when João told us the rowboat hadn’t returned.”

Oriana stayed in the carriage, giving the butler a private moment with his master. Duilio kept his hands on the man’s shoulders, reassuring him. “I’m well enough, old friend. I need to get Miss Paredes inside,” he said. “We’re only here to change clothes and get right back out on the water.”

Cardenas nodded and stepped back. Duilio returned to the carriage and insisted on helping her out, lifting her down with an ease that surprised her. She might expect that of the big selkie, but perhaps Duilio was stronger than he looked. He set her on the ground, and she clutched the blanket close. Cardenas went up ahead of them, clearing the servants out of the kitchen so Oriana could dash through in her inappropriate garb.

Duilio led her up the back stair to the second floor, and fortunately no one intercepted them. “I’ll wait for you in the library,” he said when they stood outside her bedroom door.

She showed him her wrist. “Do you have another spare dagger?”

“I’ll find something,” he promised, opened the door for her, and then headed down to his own room.

Oriana went inside. She was short on clothing. If she were staying she would have to ask for an advance on her first quarter’s pay, but she knew better. She closed the bedroom door, dropped the blanket across the settee, and paused.

There, on the small table next to the settee, lay a notecard addressed to Oriana Arenias Paredes.

Her breath went short. It had come from someone who knew both of her mother’s surnames, Paredes andArenias. Most people paid little attention to the surname a female received from her father. Oriana picked up the note, impressed by the fine quality of the paper and the author’s neat hand. Surely this was from Maria Melo, who’d implied an acquaintance with her mother. Her orders.The ones that would tell her how to get out of the city, where she would be sent, and to whom she would report. Perhaps they would say she had to leave now. How long had this been sitting here?

She ran her fingers over the lettering and then turned the envelope over to break the blue wax seal marked with the letter M. She slid one finger under the flap.

What if I’m supposed to leave immediately?This could order her to leave this morning, an hour ago or an hour hence.

I am not letting Isabel’s killer get away.

Oriana set the note back down on the silver salver on the table and went to the dressing room to find something to wear.

She’d hated these garments at first, so tight and uncomfortable. Now she saw them as a symbol of all the things she would miss from this place. She’d even miss the silk mitts that pinched her webbing. She would miss . . . many things. Once dressed, Oriana gazed at the tired face in the mirror, determined not to let her emotions get the better of her. She inhaled deeply, taking in the masculine smell of her borrowed room. Then she plastered a serene look on her face and went down to the library to meet Mr. Ferreira.

CHAPTER 32

Duilio brought his last knife for Miss Paredes to use. His favorite revolver had been in the pocket of his frock coat last night, now lost forever in the water of the Douro. He would miss that gun, but he had an Enfield revolver that would do well enough until he could get a replacement sent over from England.

The carriage was waiting for them behind the house and bore them out to the quay, where Gaspar and Pinheiro were still waiting. Gaspar had a wooden box about the size of a football in his hands. He opened it up to reveal a golden device sitting atop what looked like a pincushion. A collection of gears with a coil of metal inside, the device ticked and trembled like the works of a watch. “I’d like you to take this along with you,” he said.

Duilio surveyed the clockwork device doubtfully. If it was valuable, he didn’t want to take it out on the water, not on the paddleboat. “What is it?”

“It’s called a blood compass. A clever little device that Anjos and I have found useful,” Gaspar said. “They come in a pair. The other follows this one. In essence, it mistakes this one for the northern pole. Sadly, it only works one way.”

Oriana came to look into the box with him, her brows drawn together. “You can track us up the coast?”

“Precisely,” Gaspar said. “Wherever you end up, we can follow.”

How incredibly clever. Duilio wondered if the box might be one of the magical “toys” that the Lady’s father had tinkered with. Unfortunately, magical items usually came with a price tag. “Do we have to wind it?” Duilio asked cautiously.

Gaspar grinned. “It won’t bite you, Ferreira. I’ve already wound it, so to speak. Or, rather, Pinheiro did.”

Pinheiro held up a bandaged hand. “I had to bleed on it. On both of them.”

Duilio cast a quizzical look at the African inspector.

“Magic doesn’t work on me,” Gaspar said, “so it had to be him. Just try not to lose the thing.”

Duilio grimaced. “If it gets wet?”

“It will still work,” Gaspar said, “unless all the blood is washed off.”

Duilio glanced at Oriana, who just shrugged. He closed the box and tucked it under one arm, nodded once to Pinheiro and Gaspar, and then led Oriana down the ramp to the paddleboat. At least this increased the chance that if they did find Maraval, they wouldn’t have to face the man alone.

Half an hour later, they’d pulled out past the breakwater and traveled north up the coast. The wind was lacking and the water glassy, the reason he’d chosen the paddleboat rather than the sailboat. Oriana had taken off her shoes to keep them from the water, exposing her silvery feet again. From what he could see, the black dorsal stripe came to a point on the inside of her heel. Duilio could make out a rippled edging between the black and silver skin, a narrow border of brilliant blue. She looked up from where she sat by the wheel compartment and caught him staring at her bare feet. She immediately tucked them back under her skirt.

He didn’t know if he should be blushing or not. She had been with him the entire morning—unclothed—and had somehow managed never to turn her back to him, as if she were hiding her dorsal stripe. Was there some risqué aspect to curiosity about a sereia’s dorsal stripe? Her behavior was beginning to make him think so.

And that made him burn with curiosity

“So, where will we find your brother?” she asked.

“I expect he’s gone back to Braga Bay,” Duilio answered. “Where his harem lives.”

“A harem? Truly?”

“It’s the way they live,” he said, feeling a flush creep up from his neck. “The way they’ve lived for centuries. Males are rare, so there are sometimes as many as fifty females in a harem.”

“Fifty?” she asked, sounding appalled. “With one male?”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t think Erdano has nearly that many in his harem. But he does have a number of human lovers as well. It’s natural for selkies to compete.”

“I see,” she said, then shook her head. “No, actually, I don’t. Why would a female share her male with another? Or fifty others?”

“I’ve never understood it,” he admitted. “Selkie charm?”

“What exactly isselkie charm?” she asked.

“Selkies don’t talk about it,” Duilio said. “It’s not a talent or a skill; it’s just the way they are. Their powers of seduction are quite real, but I don’t know to what they can be attributed.”

She looked at him from under a lowered brow. “Do you . . . Have you . . . ?”

He clamped his lips together, holding in the urge to laugh at her hesitance. She was apparently shy when it came to matters of sex, which suggested a modesty sailors believed sereia didn’t possess. If he recalled correctly, the English even used the symbol of the sereia to indicate houses of prostitution. It pleased him that Oriana Paredes didn’t fit that stereotype. “No,” he answered. “I don’t have it, whatever itis. Alessio did, though. No one could resist him.”

She smoothed her skirt. “Is it something to do with the way you smell, perhaps?”

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks. “Well, we do smell.”

She looked up then, her lips falling open. “I didn’t mean that badly. It’s just that I thought at first you were wearing cologne—ambergris cologne. It took me time to realize you weren’t. Your mother, as well.”

Duilio supposed he should be relieved she hadn’t meant that as an insult. “I do bathe regularly, which limits the smell, but you should hear my valet grumble about it.”

“ Iam not complaining,” she said.

Duilio chuckled. “So, may I ask, is your ability to callsomething that your people simply do or a skill?”

Oriana didn’t answer immediately. They’d passed the port of Leixões and were nearing Braga Bay, so Duilio watched the cliffs more carefully. He didn’t want to miss the narrow opening. But he stole a glance at her face and decided she was still unsure whether to answer his query. “You don’t need to answer,” he said. “I’m simply one of those inquisitive people who wants to know everything.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said in a dry tone. “We’re all born with a voice, but we must learn to use it. It’s a combination of natural talent and skill. Some females can callships from afar. Others can’t get the attention of a man two feet away.”

He was tempted to ask into which category she fell, but decided it would be rude. She’d said she could coax a human into answering questions, so she must have sometalent. But she probably wasn’t supposed to have said as much as she already had. “Why do you suppose it affects humans?” he asked instead. “I’ve always wondered why selkie charm seems to be aimed at humans rather than other selkies. Does the callaffect males of your own kind?”

“Not as much,” she said. “It is specifically pitched for humans. Our lore says it’s because you’re the main danger to us. We’re relatively harmless. Before your Vasco da Gama, we simply distracted sailors into sailing pastour islands.”

Even when he couldn’t see the webbing, he liked watching her hands. They were long and slender. Capable hands. “Being half-selkie,” he said, “I must have some immunity.”

“I know we’re not supposed to affect them,” she said. “Or the otterfolk, for that matter.”

“Good to know,” he murmured.

* * *

Oriana wished there had been more time, but they’d reached their destination. Braga Bay was surrounded by cliffs, the narrow strip of sands melding into rock. It was more of a cove than a bay, but the name had stuck, Duilio told her. Despite the storm clouds rising out at sea, the water was calm and crystal clear. Inaccessible to larger boats, it made an ideal spot for seals to bask in the sun.

Duilio drew the boat up onto the shore before helping her to the beach. She waited, enjoying the feel of the sand under her bare feet while he grabbed a chart from the boat. Then he directed her toward the center of the narrow beach, where at least two dozen seals waited. They grunted in surprise at the humans’ approach. Then the largest rose on its flippers and began to strip off its pelt.

Oriana stared, mouth agape. She didn’t see how it happened, but one moment she was looking at a large seal; the next at a man unwrapping a pelt from about his body.

“I still can’t figure it out,” Duilio said in her ear. “It’s magic.”

She turned back to the seal man. He was definitely the selkie who’d fondled her rump after helping to cut loose the floating house the night before. He cast his pelt onto the sand, and two female seals moved to stand guard over it.

Erdano approached them then, eyeing her. No, he was leeringat her. Several inches taller than Duilio, he was broader as well and heavily muscled. There wasn’t much resemblance to Duilio, save about the eyes. They both had their mother’s eyes, clear and warm, with thick, dark lashes. He wasa strikingly handsome man, but even so, he wasn’t to her taste.

He grinned down at her. “You’re much prettier than I remember.”

Oriana could smell the seal musk on him too. If that wasa component of selkie charm, it didn’t work on her. However, having seen Erdano nude, she’d begun to formulate a new theory about selkie charm, one she wouldn’t embarrass Duilio by discussing. Hoping to discourage the selkie at the outset, Oriana firmly told him, “I am not interested in being part of your harem.”

Erdano cast a sly smile at her, one surprisingly like his brother’s, and then turned to Duilio. “Are you still not . . . ?”

“No,” Duilio interrupted him sharply, flushing. “Thank you for helping Oriana with the house.”

Oriana tried to catch Duilio’s eyes, wanting to know what Erdano had been about to ask. Duilio seemed determined to avoid her gaze.

Erdano crossed his muscular arms over his bulky chest. “You didn’t tell me Kerridan was there.”

Kerridan?“Who?” she asked.

“The other male that was trying to kill you,” Erdano said, giving a name to the selkie who’d been working with the Open Hand. “Thought I’d scared him out of my territory before. Got him this time.”

Erdano leered down at her as if expecting her to be impressed by that. Duilio cleared his throat and asked, “Were you able to follow the ship?”

“It went far down the coast to the green stone cove,” Erdano answered.

“Which one is that?” Duilio asked, unfolding the chart.

His brother scowled dramatically at the chart. “On that? I can’t tell you.”

“The one with the hooked cliff, right?” Oriana asked Erdano. When he nodded, she pointed it out on the chart. It had to be the site of the workshop.

Duilio’s expression went pensive. “This map doesn’t show any buildings there.”

“Well, there is one now,” Erdano said. “I can show you where.”

Half an hour later, Erdano lounged in the boat’s prow, dressed in a loose tunic and trousers. After another conference with his brother, Duilio came back to the rear and settled on the wide bench next to Oriana. He took the tiller from her and thanked her for holding on to it while he spoke with Erdano. The motor rumbled as the paddles splashed quietly in the water.

The green stone cove was farther up the coast, and she’d only seen it from a ship before, but a layer of copper deposit made it distinctive. It would take some time for this paddleboat to reach it. The clouds that had been gathering all afternoon had come closer, blocking out much of the sun. They consumed the meat pies that Mrs. Cardoza had packed for them, and after a time Erdano fell asleep, snoring loudly, in the prow of the boat. The boat’s paddle splashed on as the afternoon waned toward evening, and they could only hope that Gaspar was following. Oriana pushed her skirts aside to double-check the box tucked under the bench on which she sat. It was still there and, fortunately, not wet.

“I know you’re expected to leave soon,” Duilio said, startling her. “But our house is open to you for as long as you need it. We should be able to keep your name out of the papers. You’d be safe.”

Such a tempting offer. She could hide in the Ferreira home, pretending to be a companion just as she had with Isabel. Perhaps no one would come asking questions about Isabel. But Maria Melo would know she hadn’t obeyed orders and would make her father pay—a threat that Oriana didn’t doubt. She stared down at her webbing.

She wanted out of the intelligence ministry, she admitted to herself, but she didn’t know if they would let her go. And until she could extricate herself, her presence in the Golden City would only be a danger to her father. She couldn’t afford to take Duilio up on his offer. “Thank you,” she said. “I will remember that you offered.”

“Do you wantto leave?” Duilio asked softly then. “Are you being blackmailed?”

She clenched her hands together, wishing she dared to give him the true answer. “I must go home,” she said instead.

Erdano shifted suddenly, making the boat list, forcing Oriana to grab the side rail to steady herself. He yawned widely and pointed at the cliffs. “There. That’s where the ship went in.”

* * *

Duilio turned his eyes to the rocks. They were approaching the mouth of the cove, so he cut the motor. He and Erdano each took an oar and rowed, and the paddleboat slipped quietly into the cove in the twilight. And once inside, Duilio saw what he’d expected. At the end of a wide pier built in the center of the cove, the blue yacht was moored.

Erdano pointed. “There it is, the boat from last night. See the strange arm?”

They guided the small boat behind the larger one, so that someone on the shore wouldn’t be able to see it. Duilio slipped off his frock coat. He laid it across the quiescent motor’s housing, then climbed atop that and jumped to catch the ship’s railing. He pulled himself up enough to scan the yacht’s deck and glanced back. “I’m going to see if anyone’s aboard.”

Oriana had her mouth open to protest, but he’d already swung one leg over the rail and pulled himself up. He signaled for her to stay in the paddleboat and slipped over to the side of the cabin. When he didn’t hear any movement within, he climbed the ladder into the steering compartment of the ship.

Dusk had fallen, but in the dim wheelhouse, he spotted a chart on a low table—a map of The City Under the Sea.

It was evidence. Duilio rolled up the chart and tucked it under his arm. He quickly surveyed the wheelhouse but decided that anything of value would be in the cabins below, so he headed for the stair leading down to the captain’s cabin. It was dark, but on a shelf fixed to the wall near the door, he spotted a box of matches. He struck one and in the sudden flare of light could make out the entire room for an instant.

That was all it took, showing him exactly what he’d hoped he might find, the item that Maraval hadn’t left behind in his collection. He must have hidden it hereto frustrate and annoy Silva, with no care whatsoever for the damage his actions had. Tears stung Duilio’s eyes.

On the wall above the captain’s bed, a seal’s pelt hung.

CHAPTER 33

Oriana stepped into the center of the paddleboat. A wave of seal musk warned her a second before Erdano came to stand next to her. His hand touched her shoulder in an overly friendly fashion and then slid down to the small of her back.

“I’ve never had one of your women before,” he said, “but I hear you’re not as cold as you appear.”

Of all the times!Oriana gave him a hard look. “I have very sharp teeth.”

He smiled down at her, apparently undeterred. “Perhaps later, then.”

She stepped out of his grasp. “I wouldn’t make any plans.”

Duilio slipped over the yacht’s rail and dropped to the paddleboat’s decking then, a bundle tucked under one arm. “Plans for what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Duilio turned a vexed expression on his brother. “Erdano, keep your hands off her.”

“She’s too pretty not to have a man,” Erdano said, hands wide. “I had to try.”

“No, you didn’t,” Duilio snapped.

“Don’t argue over me.” Not wanting to further discuss Erdano’s heavy-handed attempt at seduction, Oriana pointed to the bundle. “What is that?”

Duilio inclined his head as if to acknowledge her ability to take care of herself. He set a rolled chart atop the boat’s engine housing and shook out the dusty bundle he held—a pelt. Oriana reached out to touch the soft fur, glancing up at Duilio’s face.

His expression was hesitant—hopeful. “Erdano, is this what I think it is?”

Oriana stepped back, not wanting to intrude.

Erdano leaned down and sniffed the pelt almost reverently. “It’s Mother’s.” Then he slapped Duilio hard on the shoulder. “You found it!”

Duilio rocked forward from the force of the blow but didn’t protest. He embraced his brother, laughing. Erdano let out a whoop. Oriana feared he would alert anyone listening to their presence, but Duilio pulled away and grabbed Erdano’s shoulder to get his attention. He lifted one section of the pelt for Erdano to see it more clearly. “There are nail holes in it.”

“They’ll heal,” Erdano said, sobering. He stroked the recovered item and then tugged it from Duilio’s grip to embrace it like it was his mother herself. “They’ll be painful,” he said, “but in time they’ll heal.”

Any damage to the pelt must translate into damage to the wearer, Oriana realized with a pang. She hated the idea of gentle Lady Ferreira suffering such pain. It was bittersweet, but still a victory for Duilio. One good thing to come out of all this horror.

“My father’s stolen strongbox was also there,” Duilio told her. “Filled with ashes. Silva’s destined to disappointment, it seems.” He frowned and added, “I was expecting more than just the yacht.”

Erdano pointed toward the beach that would be on the other side of the yacht. “There’s a big building in a space inland. I saw it when I came here last night, all lit up. People moving around.”

That had to be the workshop where the houses were being built. After a quick conference, they rowed the boat to the shore where a large boulder gave it cover, although not much. They had to hope that would hide it from casual observers. Duilio pointed toward the pelt his brother grasped. “Can you take that out into the water and wait for our return? I don’t want Maraval recapturing it.”

Erdano didn’t argue. Still clothed, he slipped into the water and a second later was gone from Oriana’s view. She climbed from the boat and stood barefoot on the sand next to Duilio. “Getting rid of him?”

He cast a glance after his brother. “I don’t want to lose that pelt. But, yes, he’s not a quick thinker, even when he’s being shot at. It would be better if he’s not around to run into any of Maraval’s Open Hand.”

She should be pleased he considered hera quick thinker. “This could be a trap.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Duilio said with a short laugh. After donning his coat, he drew his revolver and checked to be sure it was loaded. “Maraval would expect us to come here. It’s just a matter of how well we anticipate him.”

Oriana grimly drew her knife. “Let’s find him, then.”

A wide pathway led inland from the center of the beach and the pier where the yacht waited. After a brief consultation, they decided that it would be safer to approach the workshop obliquely, so they would skirt the cliffs instead and climb up to where the scrub gave way to cultivation. The crescent moon had risen, granting them just enough light to guide their steps without making them visible to watchers. No one appeared on the sands in response to their presence. It looked like the gods were granting them luck.

After a moment they reached a fall of rocks that looked scalable. Low scrub grew there, not lending much cover, but only a stone’s throw inland stood high trellises for grapevines. The landowner must produce Vinho Verdeby squeezing trellises into every spare inch of his land.

Duilio reached a hand back to help Oriana up a steeper stretch. “Will this hurt your feet?” he whispered.

“No, they’re very hard.” That was one advantage of growing up rarely wearing shoes: her feet could handle rough terrain. They hurried to the cover offered by the tall trellises. Oriana let loose a breath of relief when they got there. A few brown leaves lay scattered across the ground, but she could see that the grapes hadn’t been harvested yet. Did the grower know of the workshop built on his land? Was he staying away because of it?

Duilio pointed toward a light visible through rows of vines. “That’s got to be it there.”

She crept under the trellis and they skirted the rows of vines. As they got closer they could see the light came from a new-looking building. Wholly utilitarian, it had no embellishment, simply plain wooden walls with wide-opening doors, more like a warehouse than anything else. Holding his revolver ready, Duilio gave her a quick nod. He edged around the side of the building toward the large open door on the nearer side. Oriana stayed back out of the way until he peered around the corner and then straightened and waved her closer.

“I don’t see any movement,” he told her. “Come on.”

The workshop was indeed empty. Lamps blazed inside, casting a flickering glow over the wooden rooftops. Duilio stepped over the threshold into the big main room, where six completed replicas waited. With the house dropped into the river the previous night, that would make thirty-three houses constructed. Duilio had said something about thirty-two being a likely total, but she supposed one could have been built as a failsafe. He walked around them, glancing between them to see if anyone hid within. Nothing moved.

“It looks abandoned,” Oriana said, which didn’t explain why all the lamps were burning.

Duilio nodded, his eyes still roving the room. Oriana slid her knife back into its sheath. He walked on toward the far wall of the workshop’s main room, so Oriana followed. He leaned closer to examine the roof of one of the houses—the Cordes manor house, Oriana guessed—inspecting the metal framework extending from the roof that would be attached to the chain.

She walked on toward the far wall of the building. There it smelled of sawdust. A dozen tables and benches arranged into working areas held neat collections: saws, hammers, and nails, as well as dozens of tools for which she had no names. She stopped cold a few feet from the outside wall.

Several small casks were stacked at the base of the beam that stretched up to and across the ceiling, rags stuffed between the casks. Each of the major support beams had a similar adornment. Oriana’s stomach fluttered with anxiety. “Duilio,” she called over her shoulder. “You need to look at this.”

He jogged over to her side. “Oh. That can’t be good.”

A concise assessment.

* * *

Duilio picked at one of the yellowed labels. It was a cask of turpentine. A slender cord emerged from the top cask and led up the wall. Fuses wrapped the entire ceiling, he realized, connecting all the weight-bearing beams. “I’d definitely call this getting rid of evidence.”

Oriana pointed. “There are a couple of rooms at the back. We should check to make sure there aren’t any hostages back there.”

He could make out the two doors to which she gestured. One was an office, with windows that would allow the occupants to look out over the workroom floor, much like those at the Tavares boatyard. The other was windowless, perhaps a storeroom. Oriana went ahead of him, her bare feet making no sound on the clean-swept floors. When they reached the windowless door, she gestured for him to wait.

“Be still,” she whispered. She laid one hand against the door, her fingers spread wide, showing the webbing. “I don’t sense any movement inside.”

She’d told him before that her senses didn’t work as well through the air as in water. “Are you sure?” he whispered back.

She stepped to one side of the door. “I didn’t feel movement. That doesn’t mean they’re not very still.”

Duilio raised his revolver as she turned the latch. He shoved the door inward and quickly stepped over the threshold. No bullets greeted his entry into what appeared to be a tidy bedroom. Lining one wall were piles of foolscap, a practice he recognized. “This looks like the apartment that burned.”

Oriana hadn’t entered the room with him, he realized then. Worry streaked through him and he stepped back into the main room, but she stood only a few feet away, peering into one of the office windows.

“I believe I’ve found Espinoza,” she said sadly.

Duilio joined her, holding up one hand to cut the glare from a flickering kerosene lamp overhead. A lean, white-haired man lay facedown on the floor amid a dark pool of blood. His feet were cuffed, joined by a couple of feet of chain. Poor fellow.Duilio sighed, wondering if Maraval had kept Espinoza prisoner here since January. Clearly the man hadn’t been a willing participant in his plans. “I’ll go see if he’s alive.”

“I don’t think he is,” Oriana said. “I don’t see him breathing.”

He still needed to check. It was the proper thing to do. Duilio made his way to the office door. He turned the latch, pushed open the door . . . and the room exploded about him.